


and i won't pray for an unfilled grave

by waveridden



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Between Episodes, Canon Compliant, F/F, Missing Scene, specifically between 133 and 136
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-13 17:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden
Summary: After coming out of the coffin, Daisy finds herself in a world where nothing is the same. She's not as angry as she used to be, things are even less safe, and Basira will hardly talk to her. Everything feels wrong. The only person who seems to understand is Melanie.





	and i won't pray for an unfilled grave

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings apply for discussion of canon-typical trauma, violence, and unreality. This fic was written for the Rusty Quill Big Bang 2019. The full collection is linked above.
> 
> I'd like to give a huge resounding thank you to Sparrow, my artist, for their enthusiasm and the gorgeous art they contributed! The pieces are embedded within the fic. Thank you, Sparrow! It was a joy working with you.
> 
> Additional thanks to Tam, who always catches the weird mistakes I make when I write. The title is from [Cost Your Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qafCLxR4hD8) by Miya Folick.

Daisy says, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

She doesn’t want to be alone most days. Not after… well, not after. Eight months is a long time to spend with only the distant idea of other people. Spending waking hours by herself is hard, especially with Basira going off to parts unknown without always saying goodbye first. And she’s spent time with Jon, these past couple of weeks, but there’s only so much Jon that anyone can take. And her options are limited.

Melanie just looks at her impassively, like she couldn’t possibly care what Daisy wants. Like she couldn’t care if Daisy is there or not.

Daisy is getting more and more used to people looking at her like that. It’s a side effect of being gone for so long, she supposes. And she’s getting better at waiting it out.

“Fine,” Melanie says at last. “You can stay in my office, but I’m not going to entertain you.”

“I can entertain myself,” Daisy says sharply. She doesn’t bother pointing out that Melanie doesn’t seem to be doing any actual work, and doesn’t really need an office. It’s not clear what the archival staff does these days, other than try and fight big spooky monsters. Maybe there’s paperwork involved. Maybe Daisy, as a new employee, has work she’s supposed to be doing. It would be just like this place to give her work and not tell her about it.

“Whatever,” Melanie sighs, radiating disinterest. “You can stay, sit by my desk, read a book, I don’t fucking care. Just don’t bother me.”

“Why are you so convinced I’m going to bother you,” Daisy says exasperatedly. But Melanie is already fixing her with a look that says that Daisy is bothering her right now, and Daisy wants to push back and argue, but she’s tired. She’s so tired. So instead she bites her tongue and swallows her pride and says, as ceremoniously as she can, “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” Melanie says again. She sounds tired too.

#

Basira, ever the practical, told Daisy early on that she can’t go to an actual physical therapist. Daisy hadn’t been able to move for the better part of eight months, and that’s the kind of atrophy that means people will ask questions that there aren’t good answers for. And they can’t afford any kind of scrutiny right now, Basira had said, slowly, like she was explaining things to a child.

Daisy wishes she could resent that, but she can’t quite bring herself to.

So half of her physical therapy exercises are pulled from various stints in PT after injury. The other half are from the internet. It’s not a perfect regiment, but it’s a regiment.

It took a long time before Daisy could start doing exercises, of course. She slept a full day straight after they pulled her out. She’d been starving, but food made her sick, and around the second day she’d been convinced that she’d survived the coffin only to die outside.

Basira had nursed Daisy back to health - not that Basira is particularly nurse-like, of course. She’d been curt, and honest, and she’d made Daisy soup and helped her sit up but she hadn’t wanted to. Daisy could tell she didn’t want to.

(Jon sat her down one day and explained everything that they’d both missed. She likes talking to Jon. It reminds her that she’s not the only one who’s playing catch-up. In his explanation, he’d included that Basira had wanted some kind of heavy hitter, and Daisy had felt something inside her quietly, slowly turn to stone.

She knows what Basira must’ve been hoping for. She wanted the hunter, someone with teeth bared and bloody to help keep the institute safe. Daisy isn’t that. Daisy couldn’t possibly be that right now. She wonders if Basira hates her for it. It’s an impractical, selfish shadow of a thought that she can’t shake, no matter how badly she wants it gone.)

Now, Daisy can sit up and stand and walk. And once a day, if Basira is around, she’ll find Daisy and pull her away for exercises. She’s unerringly careful with her, like Daisy will break if she pushes too hard. Daisy hates it, but she’d pulled a muscle in one of their first sessions, and she won’t forget the split second of shocked, unmitigated guilt on Basira’s face when Daisy gasped in pain.

So Basira is careful now, with all their exercises. Twice a week they’ll take walks around the archives and the neighborhood. At first Daisy had to cling to Basira’s arm in order to keep moving. Now she can walk on her own, but there are days when she’s tempted to hold onto Basira anyways.

She never does. She rather feels like Basira doesn’t want Daisy leaning on her right now.

#

Melanie is, somehow, even less fun to be around than Jon, which - Daisy never would’ve expected anyone at the institute to be less fun than Jon. But Melanie is sharp, and unkind, and territorial. She doesn’t let Daisy stay in her office when she leaves — and she leaves often, giving and rescinding invitations at the drop of a hat. She blows hot and cold, but at least Daisy knows where she stands at any given moment.

And, to some extent, Daisy understands being territorial. There’s so little to hold onto these days, in terms of people and places, so she latches onto what little she can claim for herself. She suspects that Melanie, who sleeps hidden away in the institute, feels the same way.

Daisy doesn’t intend to start sleeping in the institute, but once she’s recovered enough to go home, she realizes she doesn’t have anywhere to go. Her flat is long since gone, it’s not safe for her to find somewhere new, and even if she did she’s still not quite well enough to stay there. So she finds a corner in a cavernous old filing room and stakes it out. She doesn’t feel good about it, sleeping surrounded by statements and other unknowable things, but she thinks she might feel worse sleeping in open space.

It’s easy to move in, given that she has very few personal effects to her name. After about a week Basira brought her some things that she’d put in storage months ago, clothes and some random objects form Daisy’s old flat that she must’ve figured were important.

And she has a book, a pulpy romance novel about a vampire and a police officer. She’s never even cracked the spine. She’s not much of a reader, and this isn’t the kind of the kind of thing she’d read anyways. But it’s a gag gift from Basira, one she got years ago. And it’s there with her clothes and a sleeping bag, and she can’t bring herself to get rid of it.

Other than sleeping in an archival room, it’s surprisingly easy to adjust to life in the institute. She learns the little unspoken rules about using the kitchen, and that she has to be in the showers by a certain time or else Melanie and Basira will jointly use all the hot water. It’s surprisingly… domestic, and easy.

The only part that’s hard is knowing that she’s being watched. It’s an itch at the back of her mind, a finely honed instinct from years on the force. Or maybe just years in the Hunt. It’s subtle, almost easy to forget, but it’s just enough for her to know that she’s not safe here.

At least she’s not alone.

#

“Where do you sleep?” she asks Melanie one day. She’s bored, and if she has to sit with Melanie’s quiet for much longer she’s going to start shrieking and climbing the walls.

Melanie looks at her, a sardonic arch to one of her eyebrows. “I stay in the institute,” she says slowly, as though Daisy has just asked a very stupid question. “There’s not much point in leaving these days.”

“I know,” Daisy snaps, defensive despite herself. “I’m staying here too.”

“Good for you,” Melanie says, as though she couldn’t possibly care less.

It’s hard talking to Melanie sometimes because it’s hard to parse out what parts of her are genuine, deep apathy and what parts are an act. It gets frustrating. Daisy wonders sometimes if people are just as frustrated talking to her. Or maybe if they used to be. She’s probably easier to talk to now. Doesn’t have as much fight in her as she used to.

“I just want to know where,” Daisy says, and she can hear the rail-thin thread of patience exaggerated in her voice. “Not because I’m going to… to do anything, you understand? I’m just trying to make sure we both have our space.”

Melanie looks at her for a long minute, and Daisy meets that look as evenly as she can. She never knew Melanie well, before, but there was something to her that she always appreciated. She’s sharp, and all that sharpness is pointed toward Daisy right now. Daisy isn’t cowed by it, but she’s a little surprised by its intensity, its certainty.

She wonders, sometimes, if she and Melanie could’ve been something like friends. Or if they still could. They probably can’t, the way things are, but it’s a nice thought.

“I’m in the tunnels, just a bit past that one main crossroads,” Melanie says at last. “Most nights, anyways. And I’m not telling you which direction to go.”

“Thank you,” Daisy says, oddly gratified.

Melanie actually fucking snorts at that, which Daisy can’t blame. It feels a little strange, resigning herself to pointed politeness and niceties. But she’s hardly intimidating anymore. She’s better, but better doesn’t always mean good.

“And I’m not going to tell you where Basira is,” Melanie adds.

Daisy flinches despite herself. She knows approximately where Basira sleeps, not from looking but from knowing Basira. But she’s never been able to bring herself to go find her. Basira’s never offered to take her, either.

“Wow,” Melanie says flatly. Daisy grits her teeth and doesn’t shout at her. She doesn’t have the energy for shouting.

#

Basira and Jon have all sorts of spooky meetings in Jon’s office. It’s because they fancy themselves planners and protectors and geniuses and what have you. Daisy has ribbed Basira for it a couple times, but Basira doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. She takes it all very seriously - too seriously, probably.

Which is why it’s a surprise that they leave the office door open for a spooky meeting.

Daisy doesn’t want to eavesdrop. She’s not going to eavesdrop. Hunters spy on their prey, and she’s not going to spy, and she’s quite proud of herself for not stopping as she walks past the door.

Unfortunately, she happens to be walking past and not eavesdropping just as Basira says, in a furious whisper, “And you know Daisy’s still not good for anything right now.”

For a split second Daisy feels like her whole body has seized up. Like she couldn’t possibly move or breathe, with those words ringing in her ears. And then her foot, already in the air, makes contact with the ground, and it jolts her back into herself.

It’s not that she didn’t know what Basira thinks of her right now. There’s just something of a difference between knowing and _ hearing. _

She keeps walking, forcing herself to keep her pace even. The last thing she needs right now is to draw attention. God knows Basira doesn’t want to pay attention to her. It doesn’t even hurt quite yet. It just feels numb, suffocating, exhausting. Like being buried.

It takes her a couple seconds to realize that she’s stopped in front of Melanie’s office. Daisy knows it’s a risk, because Melanie is moody on the best of days and this could mean getting exiled, but the hunter inside her is screaming that she’s out in the open. And that means she’s vulnerable, and she’s prey, and she needs to be somewhere safe.

She doesn’t even consciously decide to open the door, but next thing she knows she’s closing it behind her. “I need a place to be,” she says, and her voice is too raw to her own ears, so she forces herself to take a deep breath. “I need-”

“Do you ever miss it?” Melanie asks abruptly.

It’s sharp enough that it startles Daisy out of her own head, and she looks at Melanie properly for the first time. She doesn’t look well. Her eyes are too wild, too desperate, and her hands are curled into claws by her sides. Like she wants to sink her nails into something and tear.

It’s not the same kind of hunger that Daisy knows, but she recognizes it, aches with it all the same. She’s always wondered if she and Melanie are some sort of kindred spirits. She supposes this is an answer.

“Some days, yeah,” she answers honestly, because somehow honesty about this is easier than honesty about… other things. “I miss having a reason.”

“A reason for what?”

“A reason to…” Daisy falters. How to explain this? “To keep going, I guess. There was always someone else to arrest, something else to hunt. The hunting was the reason.”

“I never had a reason,” Melanie says, and her fingers flex for a second, claws tightening. “Or I had every reason. I just… was.”

“Do you know what you are without it?”

“Do you?” Melanie says sharply.

Daisy shrugs. She’s not sure about much of anything these days. She went underground for eight months and came back to a place where she doesn’t know anything she might’ve known, not even Basira. “Knowing is overrated,” she says, simple as she can.

Melanie grimaces, and her eyes flick towards her desk. Daisy knows what she’s thinking about: all the places that she keeps weapons in the office. She has knives taped under the desk, in one of the drawers, next to her door, in one of her boots. Kitchen knives and scalpels and things that Daisy’s not even sure of. Melanie has never told her any of this. Daisy just knows it. She’s not sure she likes knowing it.

“Do you miss it?” she asks, more out of curiosity than politeness. It’s an obvious answer, judging by the way Melanie’s shoulders twitch, the way her eyes dart around the room.

“I don’t want to,” Melanie says. It’s a lie. Daisy can tell. “I don’t _ want _ to, but I want to feel- to feel like I’m in control, like I can do something.”

“Do what?”

Melanie makes a noise halfway between a whine and a growl, animal and wounded and vicious in the back of her throat. “I’m going,” she spits out, and stalks towards the door behind Daisy.

Daisy turns, ignoring the way the world tilts as she moves. It’s not as bad as it used to be. “Going where?”

Melanie stops. She turns and gives Daisy a searching look before she says, at last, “Helen’s.”

“I haven’t met Helen,” Daisy says. She knows about Helen. Basira doesn’t like having Helen around. She always gives the yellow doors thin-lipped, distrustful glances when she sees them in the institute.

Melanie keeps looking at Daisy, wheels in her head clearly turning. It’s that same sharpness, but it doesn’t feel like being held at knife-point this time. Instead, Melanie turns her head just enough that Daisy knows she must be looking towards Jon’s office - towards Basira. And Melanie’s smart enough to know that that’s where Daisy came from.

Whatever decision Melanie makes, she seems to make it quickly. She meets Daisy’s eyes and jerks her head toward the door as she opens it, motioning for Daisy to follow her.

So Daisy does. Melanie’s fingers close around her wrist, firm and tight, but still careful not to tug too hard as they leave the office. They don’t bother to close the office door as Melanie drags her out into the common area and says, pointedly loud, “It’s time to introduce you to Helen. Come on.”

Daisy doesn’t look towards Jon and Basira as they go past, but she can feel eyes on them all the same, even more than normal institute eyes. She’s ready to squirm, but then Melanie turns and grins at her, and Daisy can’t help but grin back.

(It’s not that she wants to hurt Basira - god, no, never. But she certainly doesn’t mind if this stings.)

Melanie doesn’t say much as she leads Daisy down, through stairs and passages, until they arrive at an unassuming yellow door. Daisy blinks at it a couple times, like she always does when she passes Helen’s doors. They don’t make sense, and yet they feel like they’re supposed to be there.

Melanie doesn’t seem at all bothered by the dissonance as she knocks on the door. “Hey, Hels,” she calls. “Someone’s here to meet you.”

The door swings open, and Melanie pushes her way inside. Daisy notices, with no small amount of gratitude, that Melanie’s fingers remain fast around her wrist.

Basira explained the corridor to Daisy, during one of their walks around the institute. She’d described it with no small amount of distaste, how it’s incomprehensible and infinite. Daisy can’t say she likes it either, but Melanie seems completely at ease as she goes through the hallway. She skips two passages and then turns once, twice, lets Daisy come alongside her and then stops.

“Hello,” says what Daisy assumes is Helen. “You’re here to meet me.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Daisy says. Helen looks like a person, but not quite right, limbs too long and hands too… well, the hands certainly aren’t right. “I’m Daisy.”

“I see,” Helen says, and Daisy gets the horrible, unnerving feeling that she does. “And who were you before that?”

Daisy frowns and glances at Melanie, who just shrugs. “Helen doesn’t see things the same way we do,” she says, simple as can be.

“I can tell,” Daisy says, and thinks about it. Who is she? Who was she, anyways? “I used to be a hunter.”

Helen tilts her head, hair rippling with the motion, walls rippling with her hair. “And were you good at it?”

“Got a lot of arrests.”

“Daisy’s avoiding Basira,” Melanie says, ignoring Daisy’s immediate glare.

“I see,” Helen says delicately. “If you’d like, I can take you away from her.”

“Away?” Daisy repeats sharply. She knows what happens in these halls. She knows that people don’t always come out. “No, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not trying to leave.”

“Then why have you left?”

“I’m not leaving,” Daisy spits out. “She left me.”

Which is the cold fucking truth of it. Basira is the one who left. And sure, she had to spend eight months alone in the institute, but she avoided the coffin for reasons she still won’t share. She leaves Daisy with Jon and Melanie, because apparently she doesn’t trust Daisy to be alone. Basira left. Basira doesn’t think Daisy is worth anything right now.

Melanie glances away from Daisy, discomfort radiating off of her. Helen, unfortunately, stares directly at Daisy, with something like fascination. Like Daisy is something laid out on a dissection table, and Helen’s trying to decide which scalpel to start with.

“But you’re here,” Helen says, as though things are that simple. “And she’s not.”

“We didn’t invite her,” Melanie points out, which feels like a non-sequitur but seems to satisfy Helen. “Daisy’s mostly here for me, anyways. Outside was getting a bit much again.”

Daisy glances at Melanie again, curious. That wild-eyed edge to her is dulled now, and even though her hands still look like claws, her breathing is a little smoother. Daisy can almost feel it too, the normalcy tugging at her. She doesn’t have many opportunities to be completely cut off from the hunt. It’s almost like being buried, except somehow… grander. And less lonely.

Helen only nods, like Melanie comes here for that exact reason all the time. Hell, Daisy has never bothered to ask why Melanie comes here. She figures it’s because Melanie likes Helen’s company. And that still seems to be true. Helen doesn’t look quite so indistinct when she looks at Melanie.

“You’re always welcome,” Helen says, and then looks at Daisy. “I suppose you are as well. But I wouldn’t wander off. It’s easy to get lost, and if Basira has to come in she’ll be too logical. It’ll hurt both of us.”

Daisy blinks. “Basira wouldn’t look for me.”

“Yes she would,” Melanie says in exasperation. “And none of us want to deal with that, so let’s just stick together for now.”

“And do what?”

Melanie reaches into her pocket and produces a deck of cards. “You any good at poker?”

Helen cheats at poker.

Which is infuriating, because Daisy knows she’s cheating, but Helen doesn’t seem to. She just produces winning hands, and cards that don’t exist, and dozens of identical cards. Melanie takes it perfectly in stride, but Daisy only can for so long.

Thankfully, Melanie notices before Daisy does something stupid, like try and argue with Helen about it. She pokes Daisy’s shoulder. “You ready to go?”

“Just about,” Daisy says, a little more snappish than she intends. But Helen immediately goes all jagged and indescribable at the edges, so she forces herself to smooth her voice over. “Lovely meeting you, Helen.”

“I think you believe that as much as I do,” the thing that is not quite Helen says. Daisy can’t help but snort as the door appears in front of her. “Melanie will be back this evening.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Melanie says brightly. Helen looks pleased at that.

Daisy nods. “I’ll make sure your office gets locked up,” she says, and opens the door.

She’s not altogether surprised when she steps into Melanie’s office. It’s exactly as they left it, including the door slightly ajar, and when Daisy turns the yellow door in the wall is already gone.

She barely takes a second to glance at the office before she strides out and turns to lock the door. She doesn’t look up, not quite, but she still knows that Basira is in the common space. She focuses all of her energy on the door, and locking it, and so it’s not quite as jarring as it could’ve been when Basira says, “Daisy.”

Daisy doesn’t turn. Not yet. “Yeah.”

“You met Helen,” Basira says, and Daisy _ hates _ that she understands Basira so well. Anyone else would think that she’s being measured and normal, but Daisy knows that it means her guard is up. she’s worried.

“Yeah, I did,” Daisy says, and turns to look at Basira. “She cheats at poker.”

Basira’s mouth twitches upwards, not in a smile but in something much sadder. “Yeah,” she agrees quietly.

Daisy waits. She’s not as good at it as Basira, but there’s something in her that wants to watch Basira like this. It’s that same quiet vindictiveness that let Melanie pull her out of the office earlier. Part of the hunt is waiting for the prey, she supposes. And she could wait for Basira as long as it takes.

And it’s Basira who breaks first. There’s not a crack in her composure, not so much as a tilt to her head, but she says, “You know I’m happy you’re back, right?”

“Yeah,” Daisy says acidly. “I’m also happy that _ Jon _ brought me back.”

Basira’s mouth tightens. “I had business to take care of.”

“Seems like you always do.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a lot of trouble right now.”

“Did about eight months of noticing, thanks.”

“And what are you doing about it now?” Basira lifts her chin, a challenge finally glinting in her eyes. “Your physical recovery is going faster than it has any right to, but you’re still spending all day listening to Jon record statements, or playing cards with the literal embodiment of unreality. You’re not doing anything.”

“But I’m recovering,” Daisy says, and realizes suddenly that it’s true. She is. “I’m learning how to be a person again, and I have a right to do it. I was a person before I was a hunter, Basira, and I want to be one afterwards too.”

“You’re not going to get an afterwards-”

“I’m in the afterwards!” Daisy throws her arms wide, careful not to overbalance, not to stumble even for a second. “Look at me, Basira, I know you don’t think I’m a hunter.”

“I’m not asking you to be a hunter.”

“Aren’t you?” Daisy takes a step forward, and it’s a mistake, because now all she wants to do is run. “Because you don’t seem too interested in me now that I’m not.”

Basira flinches back, looking for all the world like Daisy’s just slapped her. There’s honest, naked hurt on her face. She must be too surprised to hide it. Daisy waits for that vindictive fire from earlier to start up underneath her, but it doesn’t come. Instead she’s just tired.

“Daisy,” Basira says, and there’s a clear ache in her voice, clear longing, and abruptly it’s too much.

Daisy takes a breath. “Not now,” she says, because it’s the only thing she can think with any clarity, and she stalks out of the offices. She lets her feet carry her to the filing room, lets herself detour and weave through other rooms in case someone is following her, until she finds her sleeping bag.

The book, that awful novel that Basira gave her years ago, is sitting next to her pillow. Daisy carefully tucks it into one of the shelves, so it’s just out of sight. It doesn’t help. She still knows it’s there. She still knows Basira’s not.

#

Melanie is gratifyingly unbothered when she gets back from Helen’s the following afternoon to find Daisy already in her office. She’s as cool as ever as she opens the door and sees Daisy, sitting on the floor, clutching a romance novel with both hands. She doesn’t ask questions, just tosses Daisy a protein bar and says, “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Daisy says, because there’s no point in lying to Melanie. She doesn’t care what Melanie thinks of her, because Melanie doesn’t think much about her. It’s refreshing. “You seem like you’re in a good mood, though.”

“Helen,” Melanie says simply, and for a second Daisy is mind-bogglingly jealous. She remembers the days where Basira could fix any bad mood. And now, well, Basira’s caused more than a few bad moods recently.

Daisy unwraps the protein bar and takes a sullen bite of it. She misses real food, but the kitchen in the archives is a little lacking. And she doesn’t leave much these days. She tries, sometimes, but she knows that she’s still not fully recovered, and she’s not fully able to protect herself from the things that are out there. So she spends a lot of time inside.

Almost like she’s reading Daisy’s mind, Melanie says, “I’m going to the movies later.”

Daisy lifts her eyebrows. “Are you,” she says flatly. “Something bloody?”

Melanie smiles, all teeth and angles, and says, “I was actually thinking about finding something sad. There’s always some kind of tragedy out there.”

“Cheers,” Daisy mutters, and takes another bite of the protein bar.

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“To the movies.

“Melanie-”

“I’ve been thinking,” Melanie says. Daisy groans and takes another bite of the protein bar. Melanie ignores her blithely. “You and me, we forgot how to be people. It’s a bit of a privilege, not having to think anymore.”

“So?” Daisy snaps, trying to hide how suddenly, deeply shaken she is. It _ did _ feel like a privilege, not having to worry about anything but the hunt. Like it was a gift to turn her brain off and just chase.

“And I want the privilege of being able to think again,” Melanie explains. “That’s why I go to Helen. I can think there. Only she’s not the most normal.”

“And I am?”

“No, but you need as much help as I do.” Melanie shoots a pointed look through a wall, and Daisy knows she’s looking towards Basira. She winces despite herself, which Melanie ignores. “Basira and Jon are doing a lot of the heavy lifting with the powers and the rituals and the blah blah blah, but they’re miles ahead of where we are right now. We’re not helping because we can’t right now. It’s bad for us.”

Melanie absently reaches down to scratch at her leg, and Daisy’s heart twists. She’s thought so many times that she could help more If Only: if only she were a little more recovered, if only she hadn’t given in to the hunt, if only she could give in again.

“What does this have to do with the movies?” Daisy says at last, although she thinks she’s beginning to understand.

Melanie shrugs. “It’s a thing people do,” she explains. “If you want to be a person again, you can come along. And if not, you can sit with Jon in his office and watch him stare at books for hours.”

Daisy shudders. Jon is a little unsettling to be around some days, and she’s not sure she could handle unsettling today. But she can handle Melanie, and all her rough edges and hidden earnestness.

“Could we watch something bloody?” she says tentatively.

Melanie lets out a long breath. “Thank god,” she mutters, and Daisy suddenly wants to laugh. Melanie just smiles at her, too wide to be genuine but too relieved to be fake. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to, but there’s a new indie horror movie that looks god-awful and slasher-y.”

“I love god-awful slashers,” Daisy says, and Melanie’s smile relaxes even more. Daisy can’t help but smile back. “I’ll buy the popcorn.”

“There’s a showing in about an hour at a cinema that’s walking distance,” Melanie offers. “Think you can manage it?”

For a second Daisy wants to say no. Walking distance for her still isn’t the same as walking distance for most people. But she wants to walk, and she gets the feeling that Melanie won’t leave her behind if she collapses on the street.

“Yes,” she says decisively, and Melanie nods. And for a second things feel bright, and simple, and clear in a way that Daisy hasn’t felt for a while.

#

And somehow it becomes routine, because all things can. Daisy spends most days with Jon, helping him with statements. Basira still helps with her exercises, but she’s even quieter and more distant than she was before. Daisy thinks that she must’ve really hurt Basira. Daisy doesn’t like to think about that.

And every few days she goes to Melanie, and they always find something to do. Sometimes they go to Helen’s; sometimes they go to lunch. On one memorable occasion, they try and prank a ghost hunter that Melanie says used to be a rival. They find new things to do, things that people do together.

One day they’re walking back from a coffee shop, and the weather is surprisingly nice. Daisy isn’t holding onto Melanie for balance - hasn’t needed to for a couple days, actually. She’s giddy with it, with being able to move by herself again.

“Weather’s nice,” she says, glancing up at the sky, just for the novelty of seeing the sky again.

“You ever thought about therapy?” Melanie says, in a sudden rush.

Daisy blinks. “Don’t know what I’d say,” she points out. “Do I just say I spent eight months indoors not moving?”

Melanie shrugs. “You can be vague.”

“Are you thinking about therapy?”

“Georgie’s helping me get an appointment.”

“Wow,” Daisy says, because she’s not sure what else to say. She’s never felt like therapy was an option for her, even back when she was a detective. The idea of being well-adjusted, of trusting someone to adjust you like that, feels foreign. But Melanie seems so tense, so hopeful, that Daisy knows she can’t say any of that. Instead, she says, “S’pose that therapy is the kind of thing that people do.”

“Suppose it is,” Melanie says. She sounds relieved. “I was just wondering. I know you and Jon have talked about these things before, but I thought it might help to talk to someone else.”

“Do you go out with other friends?” Daisy asks, suddenly curious.

Melanie looks at her for a long moment before she nods. “Been trying to mend fences.”

“Huh,” Daisy says quietly. She’s never been one much for friends - Basira was always an exception, not the rule - but she thinks Melanie has been good for her. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Melanie turns away to look forward, rather pointedly. “I know we don’t get along.”

“No,” Daisy agrees, even though they both know that they get along just fine now.

“But it’s been good being a person with you. You’ve helped me remember how.”

Daisy thinks about the shitty romance novel, tucked in between statements by her sleeping bag. She’s read it cover to cover twice. It’s horrid, and it’s a remnant of someone she used to be, and she resents it, and she’ll never let it go.

“Yeah,” she says. “You too.”

#

Finding where Basira sleeps isn’t a hunt so much as a deduction. Basira can only sleep where it’s cold. Basira would want to be against a wall, but not in a corner. Basira would want to be by an exit. So the tunnels feel like the natural place to go.

She looks up as Daisy rounds the corner, but doesn’t say anything, just inclines her head. Daisy takes it for the invitation that it is and sits down, back against the wall.

“You and Melanie went out again,” Basira says. It’s not quite a question, but it’s also not quite a statement.

“Me and Jon, actually,” Daisy says. Basira looks at her in surprise. Daisy stares down at her own feet, not quite ready to meet Basira’s eyes, and shrugs. “I think he leaves this place even less than I do.”

“Generous of you to take him out,” Basira says. There’s something sardonic and familiar lying underneath it.

“Someone around here has to be a nice person,” Daisy says. Basira snorts, and something hopeful flutters deep in Daisy’s chest. “You been okay?”

Basira goes quiet for a long moment. Daisy thinks that she’s gone too far, been too honest, but then Basira breathes out. And suddenly it’s not archival assistant Hussain or a coworker or stranger, it’s _ Basira _sitting next to her. Daisy could cry with relief.

“Tired,” Basira admits. “But I think for a good reason.”

Daisy nods and finally looks over at Basira. Neither of them are open people, exactly, but she’s always been able to read Basira. She can see the hope on Basira’s face, guarded and careful but still present and clear.

She brings a hand to Basira’s cheek and leans in. Basira huffs out a soft breath before her lips meet Daisy’s. It’s the first time they’ve done this since the coffin, the first time in the better part of a year, and Daisy is almost surprised by how familiar it feels. Kissing Basira feels like it always did. Like nothing has changed.

After a few seconds, Basira pulls back enough to press a kiss to the corner of Daisy’s mouth, and then leans her head carefully against Daisy’s shoulder. “You seem better,” she says quietly.

“I think I am,” Daisy says, surprised by how true it is. “Weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Basira agrees, and Daisy’s mouth twitches into a smile. And for a heartbeat it feels like the world has righted itself, and things are how they’re supposed to be.

“Weird,” Daisy repeats, and pulls Basira more firmly against her side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Sparrow for their fantastic art! If you like the art for the fic, you can reblog their post on Tumblr [here.](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com/post/186897106356/id-two-illustrations-the-first-is-of-helen) You can also find me on both Tumblr and Twitter as @waveridden. And please make sure you check out the fantastic work that other folks have done for the RQBB!
> 
> ETA: This fic now has a podfic, which is linked below. Thank you so much, Alex!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and i won't pray for an unfilled grave [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882949) by [Cryke_Audio (Crykea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Cryke_Audio)


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